


Imagine Being Loved By Me

by ratchet_intellectual



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Inspired by a Hozier Song, M/M, Or Is It?, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 10:39:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19744012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratchet_intellectual/pseuds/ratchet_intellectual
Summary: I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things we'd doSo I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you





	Imagine Being Loved By Me

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Talk by Hozier but the more it grew away from it the more I wrote.

McCree had long ago made peace with the fact that, if they had met in different circumstances in a different land, he and Shimada Hanzo would have made love until the cows came home. This admission was given reluctantly at the beginning, a spiteful thought that sparked a shameful twist of lust in his gut. Now, the aged cowboy resigned himself to pining. It was an unfamiliar feeling. McCree was not used to wanting. When he was younger, he took whatever with impotence. Over the years as an outlaw, McCree learned to be grateful for whatever floated his way. He never wanted for much because there wasn’t much to want.

But Hanzo was something different. McCree had never felt this kind of solemn longing in his life, the bittersweet ache, the slow death of it all. His want was intangible but weighed on his heart each day and threatened to crush him every time he saw Hanzo smile. The archer wormed his way into the cowboy’s heart something fierce and he didn’t even know it. 

In the past three years, the two had grown impossibly close. No one, not even McCree himself, would have guessed it. In the beginning McCree couldn’t stand the archer. Hanzo was haughty, single minded, and abrasive. Stubborn as all hell and too pretty to punch in the face, Hanzo presented a vexing challenge for McCree to rassle with. The archer’s sharp tongue made the gunslinger want to kiss the air from his lungs. It was disconcerting and he hid his lust behind pointed jabs and retorts. The two snipped at each other, both hardened by years on the run, both too skilled to be managed without a firm hand. Their friendship was spurred from spending one too many after meeting scoldings with Winston. Both of them had a pension for death defying stunts that jarred with the space ape’s plan for team cohesion. After a particularly fierce lecture from the new strike commander, McCree threw caution to the wind and invited the archer out for drinks. To his surprise, Hanzo said yes and the rest was history.

The two discovered that they both had a strong love for good alcohol. Hanzo’s taste in liquor was a bit more refined but he never protested to a second or third cup of Evan Williams Single Barrel. The two would frequently drink and trade stories after missions. When he wasn’t being a bristly asshole, Hanzo was pleasant company. While they drank, McCree had to bite his tongue to resist the urge to tell Hanzo that he looked beautiful while laughing. These post mission sessions would expand to training together or sharing a meal in the common area. Their usually harsh banter turned more playful. Sixteen months after their first outing on the briny cliffs of Gibraltar, they spent more time than not together and built what anyone with eyes would call a friendship. It was around this time that McCree’s imagination went wild. 

“Read it and weep, Shimada, 27 confirmed hits.” McCree all but sung as he looked over the team performance statistics. The mission was a resounding success and he felt like gloating. He and Hanzo had an ongoing competition to see who could get the most kills. It usually went back and forth depending on a variety of variables. The loser would graciously provide snacks or drinks for their next outing and McCree had to remind himself to not think of them as dates no matter what his foolish heart said. 

Hanzo smirked as he made his way over to the holographic display. He scanned the screen with mild interest. 

“You did good,” He said before flicking the display towards his own statistics. “But not good enough.” As prideful as a rooster, Hanzo preened at his own statistics. 

There on the display showed 32 for Shimada, Hanzo. McCree let out a low whistle at the score and chuckled. 

“Well, I’ll be damned. Wonder where those last five shots came from. Sure you weren’t hittin’ birds?” 

“Jealousy is unbecoming McCree.” 

The world, including the rest of the team behind them, melted into white noise. All McCree could look at was the other man as he went through each statistic to boast. Hanzo would never admit that he enjoyed receiving praise and McCree was fool enough to give it to him. The pretty gleam in his eyes and the wicked curve of his smile were memorizing. 

“Alright, jeez. You got me Robin Hood. Drinks tonight to honor your win.”

Hanzo gave a genuine smile at the invitation. It felt good to see Hanzo’s reaction change over the years. When they first started, Hanzo accepted the invitation with an air of defeat as if accepting was just a bit better than death. Now Hanzo met his invitations with excitement. Seeing the change stroked the cowboy’s ego like nothing else and it felt like a hard earned victory. 

“Not before you go to the store. I’m sure you’re feeling generous after a resounding defeat.” 

_ Generous enough to suck you off and have you begging for it.  _

A hot spark shot through the cowboy’s body. The worst kind of intrusive thought, a small idea that left McCree equally ashamed and aroused. 

“Since you asked so nicely.” McCree had stars in his eyes and the archer was completely oblivious. Hanzo huffed triumphantly before walking off to finishing packing his supplies before the orca landed. 

McCree knew he was too grown to feel this giddy but  _ gotdamn _ .

* * *

Armed with an expensive bottle of Kokuryu and a smile, McCree headed off to Hanzo’s room. Since they started their post-mission drinks, the two usually rotated locations between their private dorms and abandoned outposts overlooking the sea. Their meetings, while intimate, stopped just short of romantic. It was torture to stand at the precipice of being more than friends and then looking the other way.

McCree knew the code to the door but also knew to knock and wait. The door open and a bit of breathe got catch at the back of his throat. 

Hanzo had no business looking as good as he did. His hair was down, covering the shaved sides, and framed his face nicely. At McCree’s height, he could catch a peak down Hanzo’s loose fitting shirt. The archer was again oblivious to his roaming eyes and was only interested in the sake. 

“You spared no expense I see.” Hanzo said, making grabby hands for bottle. 

_ Anything for you.  _

“I was in a generous mood.” McCree relinquished the bottle without complaint, kicking off his boots as he entered the room. 

Hanzo had set up his small table with two traditional cups in front of his holo-vision. The bottle of sake was snapped open and served without preamble.The aged ex-yakuza settled down on one cushion, looking up expectantly at his guest. 

_ Yer so damn cute.  _

“What’re we watchin tonight?” McCree asked as he meandered to his seat. Plopping down, he picked up his glass in cheers.

“ _ Kanadehon Chūshingura _ , Treasury of Loyal Retainers. The story of the 47 Ronin.” Their glasses clinked and the show started.

As the sake flowed freely between them, McCree grew bold and allowed his thoughts to wander. In the dark it was easy to imagine himself pushing the other man down and kissing the life out of him. Naw...Hanzo had kicked his ass too many times on the mat to substantiate a scenario like that. Instead, it would be a fight, as most things in their lives have been. It would be sharp and hard. At first. Because McCree - no Jesse. In his deepest fantasies Hanzo calls him Jesse.  _ Jesse  _ would demand he slow down. He would kiss along Hanzo’s neck, his chest, and his shoulders. He’d taste the salt of his skin and the sweetness of his lips. 

Hanzo would be demanding and domineering, trying to make their love a struggle because he hasn’t ever known tenderness. Jesse would kiss away the bite and impart in him nothing but a softness usually reserved for men who are nothing like them. Jesse didn’t know much about intimacy nor was he in expert on feelings but the archer made him want to learn. Both their hands were bloodied and worn from battle. They were fierce men forged through war and conflict. They could both use a bit of warmth and something gentle. He felt so damn gooey for the desire as it went against his rough riding heart. He watched the dramatic outline of Hanzo’s profile deep in thought. 

The archer locked eyes with him lightning fast. 

“Are you confused? I can put on the voice over.”

McCree laughed lowly and topped off both their cups. He’s abruptly pulled from his daydreaming and back to reality. 

“I ain’t a coward, I can handle subtitles.” 

Hanzo hummed in suspension but didn’t turn back to the kabuki movie. The archer observed him closely, eyes roaming over his body

“You have been giving tonight McCree, and I will return the favor.”

_ Blow me.  _

“Ain’t nothing you got I want.” The gunslinger lied. 

“How about a secret. A man like you always values information.” 

McCree grinned at the idea.

“I like these terms but you gotta make it worth my while. Need some real dirt.”

“I’ll tell you something not even Genji knows. I expect you to take it to your grave.” 

“Now you’re speaking my language. I swear on my hat, another soul won’t ever know.”

“Even through torture?”

“Especially through torture.”

Hanzo laughed and his smile reached his eyes. McCree remembered a time when those eyes were beautiful but cold and distant. Now they were clear and present. 

“When I was young, I had a fantasy.” There was an undercurrent of apprehension as if someone might snatch away his fleeting joy. “Instead of being...how we were, I would imagine how different life would be if the Shimada clan were a...kabuki family.”

McCree listened intently. Sometimes Hanzo would share nothing but shards of his past and other times he would retell stories he’s kept to himself for decades. This was something new: a fantasy. A dream. 

“Don’t sound too bad, couldn’t really see you as an actor.” McCree takes a slow slip. 

_ You got the looks for it _ . 

Hanzo chuckled in response.

“I wouldn’t be very good but the idea that we could have been different, powerful and respected in another way was...appealing.” 

“Live another life. Be a different man.” McCree added. The other nodded. The movie continued on but neither paid any attention to the story. “Can’t say that I’ve never thought about somethin like that.”

Hanzo looks at him across the short distance of the table. There’s something in his eyes but it’s too dark to make out. 

“Who would you be if you could be anyone?”

_ I’d be your man.  _

“A writer.” McCree blurted out to mask his true answer. It wasn’t wrong and he wasn’t lying. He always had a passion for writing but never had a true way to pursue it. There was that one outlet that was too private to share with even Hanzo. Not yet.

Hanzo took in his answer with an appreciating sound as he mulled over the idea. McCree wondered how the archer viewed him in the dimmed lighting of the holo-vision. 

“McCree the Writer. What does he write about?”

“Anything. Bout the world, maybe some fiction.”

“Westerns I’m sure.”

“Of course! And I might travel to Japan, do a review of a famous kabuki actor.”  
The two laugh at the absurdity of the idea. 

“The actor? How is his performance?” Hanzo takes a long sip and McCree follows the motion of his swallow. 

“Not bad, passionate and focused but the story was too fussy for my taste.”

“Based on your books, I am sure you wanted more guns and explosions.”

“One or two couldn’t’ve hurt.” 

The conversation lulled and they polish off the last sips of the Kokuryu. The movie went into the ninth act unwatched. 

“This life ain’t so bad though. Good times, good liquor, good friends.” McCree watched as Hanzo gathered the cups in an act to busy his hands. The air felt intimate and too warm for Hanzo Shimada the Assassin and Jesse McCree the Gunslinger. 

“We get to save the world.” Hanzo added. 

“Something like close to it at least.” 

“Whatever it is, I am glad for it. What we do now gives me purpose. Direction. I would not trade it so lightly.”

McCree stared at the other man and felt an overwhelming urge to protect the fragile moment.

_ I’ll protect this for you. I will make this life so good, you’ll never leave it. _

These thoughts were particularly pathetic as Hanzo was the last person on this base that needed protection. The man could come out of a nuclear apocalypse no worse for wear. He was the toughest sonavabitch McCree’s ever met but the cowboy still wanted to protect him. He wanted to make this world of outlawed organizations and missions and late night drinks and make it an adventure Hanzo would never grow tired of. 

“And we ain’t tradin you for anything just yet.” McCree quipped to cover the emotions welling up at the back of his throat. Hanzo just continued to smile that fragile grin. 

“I would hope so.” The archer gazed at him with storming eyes. 

_ Kiss him.  _

That insidious thought was so tempting. With Hanzo peering at him so earnestly and his lips looking delectable, McCree was willing to risk it all on a chance that his feelings might be reciprocated. A wave of courage, warmed by alcohol, washed over him and prompted him on. 

“I’m mighty glad you stuck around Hanzo. Wouldn’t be the same team without ya that’s for sure.” He’s voice was foreign to him, softened with emotions he wasn’t used to sharing. 

Hanzo smile turned impossibly brighter in the darkened room and McCree couldn’t tear his eyes away if it killed him. 

Hanzo opened his mouth, thought for a moment, and closed it. He’s face was blank but his eyes were alight with something McCree couldn’t decipher. His hands seemed confused as they rested on the table. It was as if he wanted to reach for something but stopped himself. Time stretched out into an awkward silence made heavy by the jarring mix of feelings and humor. Hanzo shifted and licked his lips dry. The light of the holo-vision caught the ever present gleam of his tattoo. This gleam followed the muscles of his arm and disappeared under his loose fitting t-shirt.

_ Follow that light with your lips… _

They locked eyes and McCree caught himself leaning in a bit over the table to make that thought a reality. 

And that was enough for the night. 

“Alright Shimada, I’ll be heading out now. I got a few reports to finish up for the Big Guy.” McCree shot up from the table faster than necessary. The sake swirled in his gut and heated his head. “Thanks for the lovely evening.”

Hanzo’s eyes followed him again as he rushed to put on his shoes. He didn’t comment on McCree’s flimsy excuse. The ex-yakuza silently got up and walked over to McCree as he adjusted his hat. 

“We didn’t finish the movie.” Hanzo observed stiffly. Was that disappointment in his voice? McCree couldn’t tell. 

“Don’t go finishing it without me. I gotta know what happens to Konami.” 

The door opens quietly behind McCree but his feet are glued to the floor. He stared down at Hanzo, taking in his sharpened beauty and chiseled figure. 

_ Tell him how gorgeous he’d look in your sheets.  _

“Have a good night Hanzo.” McCree all but whispered. The archer wasn’t smiling or frowning, his eyes still storming. 

“Good night Jesse.” 

And wasn’t that a punch in the gut? Hanzo seldom called him Jesse but it’s just as sweet as he imagined. McCree walked out of the room with his heart hammering in his chest and Hanzo none the wiser.

* * *

McCree couldn’t resist the unauthorized trip to Atlanta after the solo mission in the American northwest. The stop only took a few hours and the fruits of the endeavor were more than worth it. Sister Agusta Mary was a dower woman with a sharp tongue and made the best pies in the continental United States. The small bakery she ran was attached to a church that raised a generation of orphans left after the Crisis. McCree met her long ago during his time at Blackwatch after he and Gabe were required to hide out in a small suburb near Atlanta, Georgia after a mission gone wrong. The gunslinger wasn’t big on sweets but Sister Agusta Mary exploited his weakness for pie with her signature peach cobbler. Even after everything that happened between him and Gabe, McCree faithfully returned to Holy Crossed Buns for a slice of heaven. Sister Agusta Mary always greeted him sternly even as she aged gracefully.

“The usual?” She asked with no preamble. The ends of her stiff black sleeves were powdered lightly with flour. Her eyes were still as sharp as ever as she pointedly looked at the weapon hiding beneath his serape. 

“Yes ma’am. The whole pie if you have it.” The cowboy replied, unclipping his utility belt and placing it on the counter. Sister Agusta Mary never allowed weapons in the store but after Blackwatch saved the lives of twenty children, she made a small concession by allowing them to leave their guns up front. McCree never knew a nun could sling two hellfire shotguns over her shoulder with a practiced ease until he met Sister Agusta Mary. 

“Throw in a peanut butter crunch pie and a tray of fudge brownies while yer at it please.”

“Feeding the cavalry?” It had been a long time since McCree ordered anything but a single slice to go. He wondered briefly if news of Overwatch restarting floated even this far. 

“Something like that.” McCree gave nothing else away but she seemed content with that answer. She prepared his order with military efficiency, her brown hands working in fluid motions. 

“That will be twenty five dollars and fifteen cents.” McCree handed over a hundred dollar bill and a few fifties to spare. 

“Keep the change ma’am.” He instructured like usual. The nun hummed and took the extra money without comment. The cowboy tipped his hat, took the bag and his belt, and turned to walk out the door. 

“Whoever that pie is for, make sure you give them a big ol’ cut. A bit a sweetness never hurt none.” She casually called after him. 

McCree skidded to a stop. 

“It’s that obvious?” 

“It’s written all in your eyes. And that smile. Be sure to bring them by sometime.” Her voice told him there was no other option.

_ Maybe I will.  _

He left the store with his head full of silly ideas of first dates over pecan pie. 

* * *

“Will you stop bein so stuck up and eat the damn thing?” McCree said, hiding his smirk behind his hand. 

Hanzo looked at the oozing slice of pie, cut extra thick, with suspicion and desire. McCree was more than happy to watch as the archer fought his base instincts that demanded he devour the sugary sweet slice whole. 

“It’s just pie.” The cowboy added. 

The two were in the common dining area sharing McCree’s surprise. The others had snatched the tray of brownies as soon as they were revealed. Even Winston cut his tirade about misusing organization vehicles when he saw the peanut butter crunch. The watchpoint was filled with good cheer because of his small transgression and damn that felt good. 

“It looks messy.” The archer said flatly. Despite his words, Hanzo’s tongue swiped at his lips in hunger. McCree couldn’t help but to follow the movement with his eyes. 

“That’s its southern charm.” 

Hanzo shot him a skeptical look but finally gave in. He cut off the very tip with his fork and tried the first bite. McCree would trade his good arm to see Hanzo’s face light up like that every day. The pie was tackled with quick and efficient cuts in between sips of sweet tea. While Hanzo refused to call the beverage proper tea, he reluctantly admitted that Americans were onto something with the concoction. 

McCree barely touched his slice, too enthralled with watching the archer eat true southern peach cobbler for the first time. Sooner rather than later Hanzo finished his piece with a satisfied smile. 

“This was good.” Hanzo stated simply. 

McCree found himself looking at the bit of peach at the corner of Hanzo’s lips. 

_ Lick it off him _

“You got a lil…” The cowboy vaguely gestured to his chin. 

Hanzo ran his thumb to pick up the stray bit of sweetness instead of using his napkin. He then proceeded to lick up the stray piece of filling with a slick tongue.

_ Me next.  _

“Where’s it from?” Hanzo said without realizing he almost made his friend shoot off in his pants. 

“A bakery in Atlanta.” McCree said slowly as he regained his self control. “It’s ran by the meanest nun you’ll ever meet. Been goin to it for over a decade. Twenty seven different flavors of pie under one holy roof.”

“I’d like to taste the other options one day.”

“I’ll take you next time.” The words tumbled out before McCree could catch them. Hanzo looked a bit shocked before smiling earnestly. 

“Giving away your secret hideaways so easily? How have you evaded the law for so long?”

“Overwatch has softened me up.” 

“That explains your charitable mood. You have been so giving these last few weeks.”

_ I want to give you everything _ . 

“Love it while it lasts Shimada.”

“ Yes, a giving mood indeed.” The archer not so coyly looked at McCree’s slice. 

“You cain’t be serious.”

“What is this, your hundredth cobbler? Your thousandth? And this is only my first.”

McCree slid his plate closer to his end of the table. A man had his limits. 

“Hands off archer. I paid good money for this and I’m gonna enjoy every last crumb.” 

“I am sure there’s more in the kitchen.” Hanzo’s hand crept across the table. 

“Then go get it.”

“Why should I when you could simply share?” Hanzo’s using his spoiled prince voice. 

McCree caught the playful curve of the other man’s smirk and knew he was a goner. Limits were made to be passed apparently.

“Fine, fine ya damn lizard.” The gunslinger cut his slice in half. The crust flaked and the juicy filling oozed out from the sides. McCree snatched up Hanzo’s plate and slid half of the pie onto the awaiting plate.

“You have my thanks.” Hanzo said triumphantly. He took the plate with greedy hands. A flash a blue popped from the corner of McCree’s eye but it was quickly forgotten as he watched Hanzo with amusement. 

“Hold off why don’t ya. Let me grab some ice cream to top it off.” Half a slice of peach cobbler was barely a snack and a few scoops of vanilla bean would fill the void. 

“Two scoops. Please.”

With those parting orders McCree walked off to the large communal kitchen for ice cream. Ana, Fareeha, Genji, and Lena. had gathered around the tray of brownies to talk over a snack. The commotion and sated appetites made the hairs on the back of his neck tingle. The scene was almost too quaint, too picturesque, for his liking. 

“Howdy.” He drawled as he made his way to the fridge. The chatter continued but he felt a dozen eyes on him. 

“What are you up to?” Ana asked. It was an innocuous enough question but McCree didn’t like that tone. 

“Gettin some ice cream for the pie.”

“You know, Lena said she saw the most remarkable thing.” Fareeha noted too casually. 

“Oh really?” McCree barely feigned interest as he prepared two bowls of vanilla ice cream.

“She said you  _ shared _ a slice of peach cobbler. With Hanzo”

The cowboy’s body froze for a few moments. The flash of blue. McCree mumbled a curse. 

“And what about it?”

“The last man who took a piece of your cobbler got shot.” Ana stated. 

“With toy bullets.” The gunslinger turned to face the music as the entire group watched him with no shame. 

“I’m sure Hanzo appreciated it.” Genji observed. 

The ninja had watched the relationship between his brother and McCree with a sharp eye. McCree half suspected that Genji was suspicious of their closeness and was waiting to see if McCree was playing an elaborate cruel joke on the archer. The cowboy didn’t fault him for the protective instinct; his and Hanzo’s relationship made no sense when you got right down to it. Hanzo was too stern and disciplined for McCree’s cavalier style. Hanzo acted honorable with noble intentions motivating everything he did. Hanzo strived to redeem himself and committed himself fully to Overwatch and Genji. He worked hard to rebuild their brotherly bond and pushed himself out of his comfort zone to work in a large, messy ensemble. 

McCree well...McCree was a drifter with no strong roots in any one place. His wicked sense of justice led him to answer the call and dispense out retribution as he saw fit but dedication? Commitment? Devoting yourself to the cause with passion and vigor? Those were feelings the cowboy had grown weary of. He would have killed anyone for Deadlock and would have died a thousand times over for Blackwatch. Now, devoting himself entirely to anything felt like an enticing trap. A trap he swore to never fall into again no matter where he worked. 

He was nothing like Hanzo. 

“I guess. Didn’t pay it much thought.” McCree responded shortly, pulling himself out of the head space that threatened to send him spiraling. He focused on the two bowls of cold ice cream in his hands, the smile on Hanzo’s face and regained his priorities. No need to spoil the afternoon.

“Well Jesse, please take some time to rest. You just got back.” Ana looked him over with a bit of concern. In his haste to present his treats to the others and Hanzo, McCree hadn’t taken a shower nor changed his clothes.

“Don’t worry about lil ol me.”

“He’s relaxing in his own way.” Fareeha quipped. Her eyes were mischievous and sly. 

“Bringing Hanzo ice cream isn’t my idea of recuperation.” Lena said with a giggle. 

“To each their own.” Genji replied. 

“Last time I try to treat anyone round here.” McCree felt scrutinized for some reason, as if the group knew something he didn’t and were judging him for it. “If you’ll excuse me.”

The cowboy left the kitchen with his bowls of ice cream and the eyes of his teammates on his back. 

* * *

McCree reckoned you never know how much you loved someone until you seen them fall from a sheer forty foot cliff. Hanzo dropped like a rock down into the jagged rubble and McCree’s body moved without hesitation.

“Man down!” He screamed into the comms as he raced to Hanzo’s position. 

His heart beat slammed behind his ear drums and the cacophony of battle was drowned out. It was supposed to be an easy mission in Ayutthaya protecting an artifact that stored a dormant god program core. More Talon agents showed up than expected and the six man team was stretched thin. Hanzo had climbed up the rocky cliffs to gain a better vantage point to rain down arrows. Once they had finally managed to send Talon into retreat, a parting rocket blast from the enemy’s tank smashed into the archer’s fragile alcove. McCree watched helplessly as Hanzo braced for impact. 

By the time the cowboy arrived, the other man was covered in dust, dirt, and blood. McCree feel to his knees as he started to move rocks off of Hanzo’s limp body. The archer let out rough cough and Jesse let out a small sigh of relief. 

“Han, I got ya.” He pulled the archer into his arms and draped the archer’s body gingerly into his lap. He pulled out a small blue health pack and activated its healing field. 

_ I’m sorry I couldn’t protect ya. I’m sorry yer hurt. Be okay Han. Be okay.  _

“McCree, Hanzo. The last of Talon has retreated and I am on my way. Valkyrie is activated and I am heading to your location. ETA six minutes, hold tight.” Mercy said through their comms. 

McCree’s gloves were covered in gunpowder and were far too dirty to dress any of his wounds. Hanzo’s body was hot and heavy in his arms and McCree felt so useless. 

“Stop...worrying. ‘M fine.” Hanzo muttered as he finally opened his eyes. Dark and stormy, it was one of the most beautiful sights McCree has seen in some time. 

The cowboy chuckled lowly. What a ridiculous thing to say. There was no way he couldn’t worry about the frustrating man in his lap. 

“Ya just dropped like a horseshoe from a forty foot cliff. Pardon if I worry some.” 

“I have...fallen from much higher points.”

“Not around me.” McCree sniffed. If he slightly pulled Hanzo closer to his chest, that was his business. The two were washed in the light of the blue bio admitting field.

“It must have been hard,” Hanzo commented, voice rough and winded from the fall. “To see the man you want drop from such heights.”

Silence. The soft hum of the bio emitter. Hanoz’s ragged breaths. 

“What?” McCree almost throw Hanzo out of his lap before remembering that he was still injured. 

“I said: it must have been hard-”

“I heard what ya said but I-”

“Am I mistaken?”

McCree’s first instinct was to lie, deny the feelings he could barely put into words for himself. But he couldn’t lie. Not to Hanzo. So he sat there in silence with the dead-weight of Hanzo’s body resting tenderly in his lap. It felt almost ironic to have the thing he wanted most quite literally in his arms. 

“Or do you think I am an idiot?” Hanzo continued. He was looking up at the cowboy with those lovely, storming eyes still sharp despite the blood and dust. 

“Yer not an idiot.” McCree replied automatically. He finally found the courage to return Hanzo’s gaze. It was heavy and open and lesser men would have surely perished. 

“Then why have you been so bashful?” His tone was hot, almost accusatory. 

“It’s a hard thing to do-”

“And I’ve never known you to back down from a challenge.”

“This ain’t a normal challeng-”

“All the great stories of the infamous Jesse McCree and feelings for  _ me _ , of all people, turns you into this?” That last remark cut his pride. 

“Hey now!” McCree snapped back, his temper flaring because was this bastard actually angry with him for  _ pining _ ? “I ain’t a coward. Feelings don’t come naturally to me.”

“I am not expecting you to wax poetry.” 

“What were you expecting?” 

“The truth. Pining does not suit you.”

That was a salty kick in the teeth and McCree was tempted to throw the archer off his lap and leave him to fend for himself until the medic arrived. 

“If you knew for so long, why ain’t you say somethin? Why not put me out of my misery?”

“I did not want to shame you.”

“Well thanks for sparing me my honor. Sorry to disappoint. I’m just a foolish, love-struck yella belly coward.” The words came out bitter and harsh. The six minutes stretch into an eternity as Mercy seemed no closer to their destination.

Hanzo shifted in his lap to raise a dirty hand to his cheek. The gesture, simple and far too gentle for a man like Hanzo Shimada, stopped the cowboy’s heart. 

“This went better in my head.” Hanzo finally said, thoughtful and slow and still rasped from the fall. “It might be the concussion.” 

McCree was confused but weak and Hanzo’s hand on his cheek felt like something close to heaven. 

“How did you expect this to go?”

“Better. I just cannot understand how someone like me can cause someone like you to falter.”

Hanzo’s hand fell down and McCree immediately missed its warmth. The archer shifted in his lap, dirty, hurt, and clearly dissatisfied. 

“I don’t know what you want from me darlin.” McCree’s voice sounded wrecked to his own ears 

Before Hanzo could reply, Mercy touched down a few yards away with her Caduceus Staff at the ready. 

“McCree, you know better than to move an injured teammate.” Mercy chided before getting to work. 

“Better than the rocks…” He muttered but the medic did not respond. 

The air shifted and nothing else was said while Mercy worked. The evac orca landed at their location a few minutes later and as McCree threw Hanzo’s arm over his shoulder, he felt the same twist of shameful want that plagued all these years. 

* * *

Hanzo ended up with a mild concussion and a broken arm. His entire left side was bruised with molten blue-black splotches that blended in with the ink of his tattoo. His face was also bruised with a nasty gash hidden in his hairline but he was more or less whole. After confirming that Hanzo’s injuries were relatively minor, the cowboy left to brood over the archer’s revelation. 

McCree was nothing if not strategic. He bated his time carefully after the mission. He had new information to consider, a new angle to analyze. Hanzo  _ knew _ . And he had known for some time apparently. This left McCree with few options going forward. First, he could pretend it never happened. This was a tempting option but completely unrealistic. Hanzo had already accused him of being a coward. If he tried to deny the situation, he would just disappoint the archer further. 

The only real option was to confront the confession head on. McCree felt the all too familiar curl of shame. Hanzo was right. McCree was acting so out of character. He’d never been shy to make his opinion known, never sparing his tongue for anyone. He was supposed to be bold and daring but the idea of plainly laying out his heart at Hanzo’s feet felt insurmountable. A bridge he had resigned himself to never crossing. The gunslinger prided himself on having a general plan for most eventualities. If point and shoot didn’t cut it, his back pocket was stocked with Plans B through Z. But this...he had never even imagined that he would need to fully confront his feelings. 

_ I just cannot understand how someone like me can cause someone like you to falter. _

Hanzo’s voice and his warm, dirty hand still made him dizzy. This wasn’t just his foolish heart speaking, there was more to the story. McCree steeled himself before traveling to Hanzo’s room in the dead of night. 

“ATHENA, is he asleep?” McCree whispered.

**Agent Shimada is awake. He is accepting visitors though it** **_is_ ** **after normal visitation hours.**

“Thank you kindly ma’am. I’m sure you can keep this lil meeting between us.”

**I will not lie Agent McCree but I do not see a reason to alert Dr. Ziegler.**

“I’ll take what I can get.”

The door opened with a quiet whoosh revealing a soft white and beige room. The lights were dimmed and Lucio’s healing audio washed the room in delicate beats. 

“Howdy.”

“Hello.”

The greetings were stilted and weak as McCree sat down at the archer’s bedside. Hanzo lied still in his floating hospital bed, bandaged and clean. In the dimmed lighting he looked younger than usual, sharp edges dulling and softening. 

“How ya holdin up? Not too dinged up?”

“I’ll survive.”

The conversation lapsed already as McCree summoned his strength to quit beating around the bush. 

“‘How did you know you feel as you do. About me.”

Hanzo always had a way of cutting through the bullshit. 

“Right to the point.”

“You were stalling.”

McCree let out a deep sigh. How could he pinpoint a singular event or moment that started it all? McCree raked through the last few years trying to find the perfect example but all he could think of were a thousand and one small instances spread out over days, months, years. Each piece precious in its own right and making up a mosaic of reasons to love Hanzo Shimada. 

“Can’t rightly say. It’s just a...was a process I guess. Long. Slow. Don’t rightly know when it started. Didn’t really keep track.”

Hanzo watched him closely and seemed to be dissatisfied with this response as well. 

“You said no poetry.”

“But it does not make sense.”

“Reckon love never makes much sense.”

Saying it out loud was different than he expected. Those words were supposed to sound foreign and horrifying. Instead, they sounded a bit ill fitted but still warm like a shoe that still needed to be broken in. Hanzo frowned deeply at his words, still dissatisfied and almost petulant. 

“I’m sorry if this ain’t what you want to hear.” McCree said. He tightened his fists in his lap and swallowed his heart through gritted teeth. 

“I do not understand,” Hanzo repeated. “Why you have wasted so much of your time wanting someone like me.”

“Don’t gotta understand it. Or accept it. Ya don’t gotta do anything.” 

“So I am to sit passively while you wallow in your own emotions? Wasting your life on loving a killer?”

“My hands ain’t exactly scotch free. You know this.”

“You are making a mistake. I am not worth the effort. The fact that  _ I  _ have turned you into a pathetic, pining school boy is ridiculous.”

McCree was about to fire back with a venomous retort before he stopped himself. This felt familiar in all the worst ways. This was the old Hanzo from years ago who was inflammatory and unagreeable on purpose. The cowboy observed the slight quiver in Hanzo’s firmly set brow. Even in dark, McCree admired the way the shadows danced off the cut of his jaw and cheekbones. McCree squared himself and fought the urge to be combative. 

_ Hold his hand.  _

“Cut it out.” The gunslinger said sternly. He slowly reached for Hanzo’s unbandaged arm. His flesh fingers gingerly encircled the uninjured hand. It’s the first time he’s ever acted on one of his wayward thoughts. As soon as their hands connect, he felt no regret. Hanzo’s hand is warm and rough and fits perfectly in his. “Yer not gonna make me hate you.”

Hanzo said nothing but didn’t pull his hand away from the gentle, simple embrace. He stiffened under McCree’s gaze. McCree remembered a thousand moments of Hanzo stiffening just like this, rare glimpses of hesitation from a man who never flinches. A thousand moments that McCree overlooked as nothing but wishful thinking. 

“Yer holdin out on me darlin?” It was a pointed, hopeful question. Were they both that stupid? “Have you been sittin watchin me trip over myself when you could’ve just spoken up?”

“I am not worthy.” He finally replied softly.

“That’s not something for you to decide.” 

“I will surely ruin you.”

“You can try.”

Hanzo’s fingers flexed around his, hands made to kill holding onto McCree so affectionately. 

“Love will make us weak. Easily exploitable in battle. It could destroy the team.”

“Overwatch has survived worse things than love.” 

“ I do not deserve you.” Hanzo whispered. His thumb traced small circles, slow and sweet, along the ridge of McCree’s hand. “I have not changed at all seems. I still want to act selfishly.”

“Ain’t nothin selfish about it sweetheart.” 

“I’ve never done this before.”

“Neither have I but I’m willing to try if you are.” 

Hanzo said nothing for another moment. He continued his small circles as his shoulders remained stiff. 

_ Kiss him. _

Another thought but less intrusive than ever before. For once, McCree wasn’t filled with shame. He brought Hanzo’s hand up to his lips and pressed a timid kiss to the skin of Hanzo’s knuckles. He briefly imagined all the skulls these knuckles have slammed into, the bones they’ve broken. His lips lingered on the rough skin. Somewhere above him he heard Hanzo release a shaky breath.

“Whatever yer sellin darlin, I’ll buy.” McCree’s words ghosted along the pale knuckles. “Whatever you want.” 

“Is this your truth?” Hanzo asked. His eyes were still but he allowed the smallest of smiles.

“The whole truth and nothin but the truth.” McCree chuckled. 

“You are truly generous McCree, giving me so much and asking for so little in return.”

“Then I’ll ask a favor of you.”

“Anything.” The answer was automatic, single minded, devoted, and entirely focused on McCree. It was a heady experience to be the center of such intensity. 

“Call me Jesse.”

“Jesse.” Hanzo said the name as if it was a secret treat and a shock bolted through Jesse’s spine. “Such a simple request.”

“I am a simple man.” 

The moment was unstable for sure. The air was heavy and languid. It was imperfect and unfinished but the world melted away. The only thing Jesse had to worry about was the connection between their hands. It was simple, a small joining of skin and heat. His palms were a bit sweaty but who could blame him? He was holding hands with the man he loved. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope the ending wasn't too disjointed I wanted to leave it a bit uneven to have a sense of unfinished business but I hope it was still satisfying.


End file.
